


5 Times Clint Was An Awesome Boyfriend and 1 Time He Wasn't

by cruelest_month



Series: 5+1 Avenger Times [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Love, M/M, Post-Fix-It, Post-Movie, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the most part, Clint is an awesome, accommodating, and thoughtful boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint looks after Phil when he's sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, really addicted to this pairing, and couldn't resist writing more episodic nonsense about them. 
> 
> While not a direct sequel, but this fic does tie-in to [But I Am Cleaning Up So Well](http://archiveofourown.org/works/414818) since both deal with with the same relationship, friendships, and setting.

It wasn't really all that surprising to learn that Phil was sick. If anything, Clint had been relieved to have his suspicions confirmed and validated. 

Phil had been really off his game since they’d had to help—well, more like watch—Thor take down a very ancient ice giant named Ymir. Clint had tried getting his boyfriend to see a doctor only to be given the silent treatment. Clint had switched tactics after that, steathily preventing known irritants from visiting Phil's office while he was taking it easy. He'd had even gone so far as to find secretive, inventive ways to switch out the agent’s coffee with herbal tea and honey. Obviously it hadn’t been enough to stave off a cold, and because it hadn’t been enough, Phil now had a severe sinus infection.

Still, of all the things that could happen to Clint, being ordered by Director Fury to go down to the med-lab and drag Phil home was one of the weirdest. Usually it was the other way around.

When he got there, Phil was sitting on the end of a bed, looking equals part uncomfortable and grim. Clint just shook his head and listened as the doctor filled him in on what was going on. Then a nurse handed Clint a prescription, gave him a detailed list of instructions, and insisted that Agent Coulson be kept away from anything remotely SHIELD- or Avengers-related for at least five days.

“I love you too much to say I told you so,” Clint said as they walked out to their car. 

Phil just nodded glumly.

One silent car ride later, Clint helped Phil into the elevator and steered him in to the apartment they shared in Stark—Well, the Avengers Tower. He kissed Phil on the cheek before leaving him on their couch so that the agent could think about what he’d done.

While Phil sulked on his own, Clint went down to the communal kitchen for some Flavor-ice. Thor was a fan of the green ones and Bruce really liked the blue ones so Pepper had taken to ordering them in bulk. Since Clint did not want to piss off either god or scientist, he grabbed a red and an orange.

He set them down on the coffee table, feeling at Phil’s forehead. “Just so you know? I will sedate the hell out of you if you try to go back to work until I give the all-clear.”

“Fair enough,” Phil managed. He sighed, holding out a hand until Clint placed a red Flavor-ice into it. 

He was going to be sullen for a while yet, that much was clear. Phil hated being sick and more than anything else he had hated being looked after. Never mind that they’d been dating forever and probably would go on that way for the rest of forever if either one of them had anything to say about it. Never mind that Phil had looked after Clint for nearly a decade now.

Debating what else he could do, Clint rounded up some pillows and got some blankets. He also found an old T-shirt and the stupid Captain America shield-print flannel pants Phil insisted on keeping. Both Flavor-ices were gone by the time he got back to their living room.

“I bet there’s some kind of Real Housewives marathon on Bravo,” he said soothingly, sitting on the coffee table in front of Phil. He lifted up one of his feet then the other, getting Phil’s shoes off. Then his socks. 

“Yeah.”

Clint fumbled with the remote, absently locating the channel as he tugged off Phil’s tie and then worked on the stupid amount of buttons he had.

Phil just put up with it, remaining somewhat distant. 

Clint supposed it was better than irritable. Well, somewhat. “Arms out,” he said, getting the suit jacket and shirt off. “Now up if you don’t mind. Thanks.”

Phil glared at him mildly once he had the T-shirt on. 

“See? Isn’t that better?”

Phil sighed. He snatched up the pants and locked himself in the bathroom.

Distant _and_ moody. Clint shook his head and flicked off some random housewives as he waited for Phil to emerge. “I’m not trying to mock you or anything.” 

“It’s not you,” Phil said, molding himself back down into the couch cushions.

Clint put a blanket over his shoulders, and smiled when Phil gave him a pretty stern look. “Treat me bad if you want to. I’m not leaving.”

“I can see that.”

Clint leaned down and kissed Phil’s temple. “Calling off an op is something you brood over. Getting a sinus infection is just something you sleep off. Now. What kind of soup do you want?”

Phil shook his head then winced. He rubbed at his throat and coughed. “No soup. I’m feeling smothered as it is.”

“God, you’re such a dope. Every time I’m sick, you drop everything and map out some kind of wellness plan for me that involves a ridiculous amount of cuddling.”

“It usually helps.”

“Yeah, but if that’s okay? I can get you soup. So what kind?”

Phil sighed heavily. “You don’t have to.”

“You're right. I don’t. What kind?”

“Let’s pretend I don’t mind you wasting your time on this, and that I’m actually looking forward to being spoon-fed.”

“Let’s,” Clint agreed. 

“Would you be able to make me soup without burning it?”

Clint laughed. “Soup is just about all I can make, Phil.”

“What are my options?”

“Tom Yum, Tom Ka Gai, Egg Drop, Wonton, and Hot & Sour. And Chicken Noodle but don’t be boring just because you’re sick. Most of those soups have chicken broth.”

Phil sneezed. “You can really make all that?”

“I like soup. It always sounds complicated but it’s basically broth with vegetables and stuff tossed in. And you can make a week’s worth at once and then never have to cook again.”

“You never told me this. Or offered before.”

“I figured you’d turn me down.”

“Because?”

“Because I seem like the type of guy who burns stuff. Which is fine. I get that I don’t seem like a man with many talents.”

“I’m just sick and cranky,” Phil insisted. He used some of the hand sanitizer that had been sitting on the coffee table since his cold started. Then he took one of Clint’s hands in his. “Not to mention stupid. It’s this damned congestion. And that nosy doctor.”

“Apology accepted.”

“I wouldn’t have turned you down. Then again, neither would anyone else around here.”

“Point. I’ll make three weeks’ worth.”

“Go with Egg Drop.”

“All right.” Before heading back to the kitchen, Clint got Phil some water. Then set down a box of Kleenex next to the hand sanitizer and placed small wastepaper basket down on the floor. Just in case. 

“I’ll be back. Don’t move much.”

Phil snorted but seemed perfectly content with burrowing himself under blankets and focusing on the TV. 

Egg Drop had been a good choice. It was ridiculously easy to prepare and make. The only distraction he had was Thor who watched him with rapt attention. 

The Asgardian kept making puppy eyes and asking if he too might be looked after in a similar manner if he was ever as ill as Clint’s beloved warrior. And if Clint would mind too terribly if Thor shared some of these domestic tales of love so true with the Warriors Three when he visited his home.

Clint had given Thor a bowl of the stuff just to shut him up.

Then all the other members of their mongrel hoard descended. And he ended up with just enough soup left for Phil to have several bowls provided Clint didn’t have any of the soup himself.

Phil was snoring away when Clint got upstairs. He startled awake when Clint set the soup bowl down then seemed to remember that the only line of defense available to him were germs or a box of tissues. So he relaxed a bit, yawning and eyeing the bowl.

“Voila,” Clint said.

“Huh.” Phil yawned again and dug in. “Pretty damn good.”

“Everyone else got some too.”

Phil smiled after having a lot more soup then downing the rest. “But the best part of any good dish is the chef. And no one else gets that.”

“Nope. You’re the only grumpy, sexy agent I cater to.” 

“Works for me.” Phil hesitated then offered up another smile. “Can I have some more? And some of those Popsicles too? I like the green ones.”

Clint had a feeling it was going to be a very long week.


	2. The Friend Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint lets Steve and Phil go to an art exhibit without him.

With a very foreboding glare, Thor shook his head. “You say but one word more, Son of Howard, and I shall throttle you.”

“One word,” Tony said. “More.”

“None of this is helping,” Clint muttered, downing more of the Two Hearted Ale Thor had given to him as some kind of fortification method.

Tony nodded. “Good. Maybe you’ll learn to stop making noble gestures.”

Clint shrugged. “It wasn't all that noble.”

Tony cleared his throat and when he spoke he was clearly doing some kind of horrible Patrick Stewart impersonation. And making very elaborate gestures. “Allowing your warrior to go out alone with his mighty hero… Can any act be more full of self-sacrifice? Why, it maketh even a cold heart such as mine feel as warm as the rains of spring! I ask thee, friends. Can any heart be more pure or more full of the tears of the clown than that of Clinton Francis Barton’s?”

Clint sighed. He rubbed at one temple with his ale bottle before lowering it so he could finish it off. “Thor, kill this wretch without mercy and with my blessings.”

“It shall be done.”

“I’m just trying to make light of a shitty situation,” Tony insisted. “You let those two go to an art exhibit together without a chaperone.”

“It was a birthday present,” Clint muttered. "What was I supposed to do?"

“For which of our friends was this present intended?” Thor asked, folding his arms. 

“Steve. Phil wanted to do something nice for him.”

Tony shook his head. “Verily that is not of the good.” 

“What he said,” Thor murmured.

Clint sighed. “No, it’s fine. I have to be able to trust Phil. I do trust him. With everything. Even when he’s out with Captain America.”

“Okay, this is just unbearable.” Bruce handed Clint another ale, then ruffled his hair. Originally that was something only the Hulk did, but lately Bruce had been doing it too. Clint had no real objections to either man or monster being affectionate towards him as long as his neck and hair remained intact.

“You can trust both of them,” Bruce added. “And you two are going to give him an ulcer for no good reason.” 

“I don’t know if it’s for no good reason,” Tony pointed out.

“I do. I also know that Clint did something very nice and very hard for him. He needs our support.”

“You think that was a nice thing to do?” Tony asked.

“I know it was. Look. Clint goes out all the time with one or more of us. Phil usually stays here and does some Sudoku puzzles and pretends he doesn’t mind.”

Clint frowned. “He does?”

Bruce nodded. “Or sometimes we play chess. Anyway, there’s no doubt in my mind that they know how dead they’d be if we can’t trust them.”

“Your words are most wise, friend Banner. Both captain and agent would do well to maintain our stalwart trust for Clint is my favorite,” Thor cheerfully announced.

“Mine too,” Bruce agreed.

Tony looked hurt. “What about me?”

“You’re my favorite scientist,” Bruce said gently.

“I better be.”

Thor frowned anxiously.

“And you’re my favorite god,” Bruce promised.

“Then all is right and just,” Thor declared.

“Geez. We’re all really insecure,” Clint mused, and knowing that was the case made him feel a lot better. 

He was still a bit down all night but he tried to participate in whatever games or conversations the others had around him. It was just hard. Sure, he understood it was only fair considering all the nights he spent out with Tasha. And he spent a lot of time alone with Thor… But that wasn’t the same thing. He didn’t have special Thor cards or Thor signs or Thor stationary or Thor scraps of clothing or… 

The actual Thor patted Clint’s hand, looking worried. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Bruce said. “Coulson could use a friend, and he has to share all of us with you. Even Steve.”

Clint nodded.

“All you’re doing is finding a way to be okay with him doing things without you being there to supervise.”

“Which is fine,” Clint insisted.

“Right. I mean, sure he’s got his own little Captain America grotto, but that doesn’t mean anything much,” Tony pointed out. “He barely knows Steve, and he knows all about you. No one is so brain-dead that they’d break up with someone to be able to complete their collection.”

Thor made a face. “Such behavior is unseemly and quite demented.”

“Sure is,” Tony said with a good deal of enthusiasm. “And come on. We’re all attractive around here. Coulson has no reason to upgrade.”

Clint rolled his eyes.

Tony took that as encouragement and continued. “Even without the threat of being killed by basically all of the Avengers… He loves you. You love him. Sure, it makes zero sense but—”

Bruce sighed. “Be quiet again, Tony.”

Tony nodded.

-

An hour later, Steve and Phil came back. Steve looked pretty cheerful if a little guilty while Phil looked a bit grim and twitchy.

“So. Not a good date?” Tony asked, and then hissed in pain as Thor elbowed him roughly.

“Not for me. But I think the Captain had a nice one,” Phil said before heading upstairs. ”Maybe he’ll tell you all about it.”

Steve smiled sheepishly when everyone looked at him. “There was a girl there. From that bank that got hit during the Chitauri invasion? I guess I saved her and she wanted to spend time with me. So she ate dinner with us and then... Well.”

“You didn’t give her Phil’s ticket,” Clint said. “Did you?”

“No, of course not," Steve insisted. "I was going to buy her one myself, but they were sold out. So I asked Agent Coulson if he'd mind sitting this one out.”

No one said anything so Steve pressed on. 

“He said he didn't only I think he did because he had to spend the evening waiting for me at a Starbucks." Steve turned bright red. "Agent Coulson drove, you see, and I still can’t figure out how to use that phone you guys got me… But I’ll make it up to him at some point. I think he understood. When a fella has a birthday… What?”

Bruce and Thor looked like disappointed parents who weren’t sure what they'd ever done to deserve such an ill-mannered child. 

Tony was offering up a very amused slow clap.

“We need to talk, Steve, but for now? Bless you for being such a dumbass,” Clint said. Then he ran up the stairs. 

Phil was already taking a shower so Clint stripped down and joined him.

“I heard what happened.” Clint tried to frown but started grinning instead. “I’m sorry.”

“You look it too.”

“I can’t help it. I was sort of worried. I trust you. Just.”

“I know, and I’m the one who should be sorry. I let you spend all night thinking that I was going to spend all evening fawning over that…” Phil paused trying to think of an insult that wasn’t too insulting. “That numbskull. But honestly all I ended up doing was making friends with a venti hazelnut no foam latte.”

Clint ran his hands over Phil’s chest and then kissed him. “That sucks.”

“I’ll get over it.”

“And I’ll get over letting you do things without me, too. I just really like doing things with you.”

“I know. I do too.” Phil sighed. “I guess I can’t blame a guy who was frozen for a very long time for deciding he’d rather score some points with some hot chick than hang out with me.”

Clint murmured his sympathy, stroking Phil’s cheek and then kissing him. “In all fairness, Steve probably hasn’t gotten any ever, but he’s still an idiot. I think you’re very hot.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Good.”

“You’re all I want, Clint. Honestly. Fooling around with Captain America was the farthest thing from my mind when we set off tonight, and now it is the last thing in the world I’d ever want to do. So you can stop beaming like a demented vaudeville villain anytime you want.”

“I can’t help it. I feel like one. My only source of legit competition in the whole wide world is an epic tool.”

Phil didn’t disagree. He just hung his head a bit, sighing happily as Clint worked on the knot forming between his shoulder blades. “Your only boyfriend feels and smells like unloved espresso beans.”

“I can fix that,” Clint said. “I promise.”


	3. The Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes outside of his comfort zone to make a shared dinner more romantic.

Soup being the extent of Clint’s culinary abilities, he didn’t really have much of a vested interest in eating anything remotely fancy. He was more of a burger and fries guy. Phil never said anything much about it, but… Maybe it was the suit, all the languages, or the ninja tricks, but Clint suspected his boyfriend had a more sophisticated palate.

Sometime after Tony made one too many comments about Clint being Phil’s bit of rough, he figured he ought to try becoming more refined. Not because he felt insulted by the observation, so much as he wondered if that explained certain routines they’d fallen into. He ate at the same places every week with Phil, and even then it was basically only four places. Comfortable habits were one thing. Being the sort of person who couldn’t be taken out to fancy dinner parties could be grounds for Clint’s being dumped.

Which was why Clint was standing outside a restaurant named _Mousse Au Citron_ aka Lemon Mousse. He was wearing a very expensive black suit with a blue shirt and black tie that Bruce had picked out for him. And wishing he knew more French than _Je ne parle pas Français_.

He studied the print-out of the menu that he’d been given when he booked his ridiculously expensive dinner reservation. Two hundred and fifty bucks for a meal that was probably going to kill him seeing as there were six courses and all of them involved way too much _crème fraiche_.

The worst part of it all was going to be the snails. So he put on the sort of neutral face he wore on difficult missions with the understanding that occasional warmth would be called for since he did love Phil even if this was all Phil’s fault.

He was concentrating so hard on the task at hand, that the second he saw Phil, he blurted out: “I love you.” He kept the _Even though this is all your fault_ part to himself.

Phil looked a bit frazzled, which was strange. “You’re not sick,” he said.

That was not what Clint usually got in response to public declarations of affection. “Huh?”

“You can’t be, right?” And now Phil sounded paranoid. “I checked your medical records every hour on the hour. I’d know if you were sick.”

Clint scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, and I’m not.”

“Then… Clint, you’re not leaving me. I won't let you.”

Maybe eating snails wouldn’t be the worst part of the evening. Standing outside of a place full of snooty rich people and being accused of only wanting to join them because he was either terminally ill or an asshole wasn’t shaping up to be a memory Clint would cherish until the end of his days.

“Why would I leave you?”

“Why are we here?”

“Can’t we just have a nice dinner?” Clint asked, more than a little plaintively. “Can’t you just be happy that I dressed up and found a place like this and everything?”

Phil blinked as if he hadn’t considered this and put an arm around Clint’s waist. “I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just wish you hadn’t gone to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Clint insisted. “I love this sort of thing.”

Phil's eyes narrowed, but his hand remained where it was. “Are you really Clint Barton? What’s your middle name?”

“It’s Francis, and there are no words for how much you suck right now,” Clint said. He was tempted to just leave Phil outside and see if Bruce or Tasha wanted to join him instead. But he’d already paid for the meal so he figured he’d still let Phil have some of it.

He wasn’t much happier when Phil laughed at him about half an hour later and explained that he wasn’t expected to eat everything on the menu. He just to pick an option for each stage of the meal. But Clint went with a _Feuilleté_ of Oyster Mushrooms for his second course anyway. He was going to keep trying to make this work even if it sucked the will to live right out of his body and never gave it back.

Once they'd placed their order for the first course, Phil talked about his day and asked about Clint’s.

Clint nodded at appropriate intervals, but also when Phil had actually been asking him a question because he was trying very hard not to gag as his boyfriend ate one escargot after another.

His face gave nothing away, but Clint was feeling pretty listless by the fourth course. His phone kept vibrating with texts from Bruce or possibly Tony, but he ignored it.

Phil had given up on small talk by that point. When Clint glanced over at him, he was discussing something with the waiter in very rapid French.

Clint stared at all the fruity white wine they’d been given and wished he could order a Sam Adams Lite just to piss someone off. He hated French. He hated the French. He suspected Thor wouldn’t think much of them either.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Clint grumbled, hiding behind his menu. “Can’t decide between this rainbow of fish bullshit or some kind of tornado of prime beef.”

Phil chuckled. He also shooed their waiter away when he noted the haughty scowl on the man’s face.

“Tornado?” he asked, forcing Clint’s menu down and to the side.

“A tornado with prime beef and something green. What’s with all the weather stuff anyway?”

“Green peas,” Phil explained. “And it’s a tournedo not a tornado. A tournedo is beef steak cut from tenderloin.”

Clint slumped miserably forward and rested his head on the crisp white tablecloth in front of him.

Phil leaned over and carded his fingers through Clint’s hair. “Something _is_ wrong.”

“I just feel like an idiot being here.”

“You’re not. This just isn’t your scene at all.”

“It’s your scene. It’s your… You like this stuff.”

“I suppose. I’m more of a burger and fries guy. I think we both are. I know it’s made me a bit crazy coming here but… that’s because we don’t like places like this. At all.”

Clint glanced up, trying not to look too happy about the fact that Phil had said _we_.

Phil offered up a fond smile. “If I wanted to eat at places like this, I’d drag you to a place like this all the time.”

“That’s true. I mean. I’d go.”

“I know. So we don’t eat at the same four places every week because you’re some yokel I took up with to pass the time. We eat where we eat because we’re creatures of habit.”

“You heard what Stark said?”

Phil sighed, dropping his napkin onto the table. “I did. Clint, you’re ridiculously sweet for doing this. You’re sweet most of the time, but what I like the best about you is that you’re you. This isn’t you, and quite frankly I don’t think I want it to be me. So let’s just go.”

They figured they’d still try something a little bit different since they didn’t feel like showing up at one of their usual hang-outs dressed up like, as Steve would have said, a couple of swells. So they went through the drive-thru at an Arby’s.

“You’re not disappointed?” Clint asked, feeding Phil a curly fry. Phil was driving and he hated cold fries.

“Not even slightly.”


	4. The Anniversary Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries to get Phil the best anniversary gift imaginable. Unfortunately, his team has a lot of "helpful" suggestions.

Their anniversary wasn’t really a set date in time since they weren’t sure if they ought to be celebrating when they met, when they first developed shared feelings, or when they finally got around to doing something about it.

As a sort of compromise, whenever they went out, they celebrated their anniversary. Sometimes Phil announced it when they were at a new restaurant. Sometimes Clint would clink their glasses together without saying anything. Sometimes they both said something stupidly sweet at the same time. Then Clint took a moment to mentally prepare for something awful only to be pleasantly surprised when the waiter just brought them dessert.

Because nothing awful ever seemed to happen, he really wanted to get Phil something that said _Thank you for not being Loki in disguise or spontaneously combusting whenever I tell you that I love you_.

For the most part, his team was no help at all.

“Flowers,” Bruce suggested. When he noticed how unimpressed Clint was with this idea, he added: “Really nice flowers from Tibet?”

“Come, let us venture forth into Muspelheim. There we shall fetch your love talons from the fiery salamanders that dwell there, and he can wear the claws as a token of your esteem,” Thor suggested.

“Send him a postcard,” Tony advised. “Tell him everything, but in a really difficult and cryptic code. See if he can solve it. And if he does, you guys can make out.”

“Or perhaps the dwarves of Svartalfaheim can fashion your beloved warrior a ring out of the silver tears of the dragon Niohoggr who feeds on the very roots of the World Tree. We would have to give them your firstborn child as payment but such is but a small sacrifice for love.”

“Leave him a post-it note,” Natasha said. “Then arrange to be out of town so he can read it and pine for you.”

“I have the very thing, friend Barton! My father slew a mighty troll named Snorri and fashioned a loving gift out of his head. With his own hands, Odin removed the troll’s hide. He scooped out the monster’s eyes and what passed for brains. Then he covered the entire skull in gold. Unsatisfied, the young king of Asgard, reached into the night sky and plucked out the core out of several stars to use as jewels. Only then did he present this offering to my mother. You could do something similar and I shall aid you.”

Unable to deal with any more shitty advice, Clint told Steve everything before asking what he thought.

Steve had been working on beating up a punching bag but eventually he’d given up on it in order to shake his head in sympathy. “To hell with that. Sounds like a load of hooey to me.”

“I know.”

Steve steered Clint over to a stool in front of a large bar that Tony felt added a certain something to the gym. Mostly it just added alcohol. Then Steve went behind the counter and made them both something called a sidecar.

Clint sipped his drink, steeling himself for whatever antiquated notions Captain America was going to share with him.

“Forget about price tags. Don’t spend all your money just to impress him. Or go to some weirdo planet with weirdo creatures on it. You’re well past the point where you have to prove something to one another.”

“I guess we are.”

Steve nodded sagely, downing his drink. “So come up with something your guy would want. Then you have to get him whatever it is no matter how stupid it might seem. You don’t need to pluck the hairs off a large troll’s backside or turned its head into a flower vase. You just have to show how much you care.”

“That sounds… sensible.”

“That’s what gets people right here,” Steve said, resting a fist against his heart, “and makes them all misty-eyed. What would Coulson like?”

“Something with your face on it,” Clint said with a very heavy, resigned sigh. “Like always. I mean… No offense but I’m kind of tired of your face.”

Steve laughed. “I understand.”

“Did you think that's really all I have to do? It seems way too simple.”

“If Coulson was going to get you something, anything at all... What would he get you?”

“…I hadn’t thought about that.” But Clint imagined it would be something straightforward and obvious too.

“Something with my ugly mug on it,” Steve mused. “Let me help then. I bet I can find you some nonsense that no one else has.”

“That would really cool,” Clint said, careful not to sound too eager. "You don’t have to though.”

“I owe Phil one,” Steve said. “More than one if you think about it. Even if I didn’t, let’s say you end up off world with Thor trying to teach a bunch of cave trolls to play my theme song on the clarinet and you get hurt. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Thank you, Steve. This means a lot.”

Steve smiled and topped off Clint's glass. “I know I’m not exactly the most forward-thinking guy around, but I’m still your friend.”

“You are,” Clint assured him.

“Do you want something for a wall or something for a mantelpiece?”

“Wall. He’s running out of shelf space.”

-

Phil was more than a little overjoyed with the framed recruitment poster, and he did look really misty-eyed when he was presented with a book of misprint stamps featuring both Cap & Bucky. Even more so when Clint pointed out that everything was in mint condition.

“Happy anniversary,” Clint said with a great deal of relief. “From me and all the kids.”

“It’s been a good… However long it’s been,” Phil said when he could tear his gaze away from what he’d been given.

“It’ll get even better,” Clint assured him.

“In that the case, you might as well have this.” Phil handed him a small box.

Clint took it and shook it. He grinned when the box made a clinking noise. “Handcuffs?”

“No, but there’s always next year. Or month. Or week.”

“Before I open it… Who told you? Was it Bruce?”

“I ended up getting a lot of unsolicited advice over the course of the last week or so. It was confusing but sort of par for the course,” Phil said before grinning. “Then Thor stopped by.”

Clint groaned. He knew exactly where this was going. “I’m so sorry, Phil.”

“It’s all right. He offered to take me fishing in the mists of Niflheim so I could fashion you an engagement ring out of the scales of some deadly, mythical bass that dwells there. He also told me about his father and some of the truly abhorrent gifts Odin's made for his wife over the years.”

“Thor means well. They all do.”

“At the very least they’re doing the best they can with what they’ve got. Now open your gift.”

Clint opened up the box and made an effort not to become slightly misty-eyed himself. “Your dog tags. Are you sure?”

“You’re not really obsessed with anyone else,” Phil explained. He came over, abandoning his own gifts so he could wrap his arms around Clint. “You don’t tend to wait when it comes to getting new bows or equipment you’re going to need. You also don’t wear rings, and I love you.”

“Works for me,” Clint said, slipping the dog tags on. The metal felt cool against his skin, and he was looking forward to not taking them off for a long time to come. “I love you too even if I don’t want to encourage this kind of thing.”

“This kind of thing?” Phil repeated, looking amused.

“You’re sort of ruining my grand gesture of extreme affection by reciprocating it.”

“If I’d wanted to do that I’d have gone with Plan A.”

Clint grinned. “Plan A?”

“Plucking the moon out of the sky for you and bludgeoning a bunch of dark elves to death with it. I figured I’d start with something small.”

“Always thinking of others,” Clint chided.

“Always thinking of you,” Phil said before kissing him.

Clint personally thought he got the better part of the bargain since the poster and stamps had to sit all alone in the living room so they could have fun elsewhere. But things evened themselves out once the handcuffs arrived.


	5. The Long Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint dresses up like Captain America for a comics & collectibles convention. And for his boyfriend.

If anyone had told Clint he’d love someone enough to dress up like Captain America, he’d never have believed it. Ever. 

“I feel ridiculous,” he said, leaving the helmet resting on the bathroom sink. He walked out into the hotel room, fingering Phil’s dog tags before slipping them under the costume.

It was a nice replica at least. Not some cheap Party City jumpsuit but more like the real deal. So much like it that Clint forced himself not to ask where the heck the thing had come from. 

He was about to wonder where Phil was when he startled. Then he looked down to see his boyfriend strapping a thigh holster onto him. “Geez, warn a guy.”

“Sorry,” Phil said in a way that didn’t seem remotely apologetic. He fastened a utility belt to Clint’s waist and moved on to tightening other straps along Clint’s arms. 

“This is all kinds of clunky,” Clint pointed out.

Phil eyed him thoughtfully. “You can leave the helmet and the gloves here, but you have to bring the shield.”

“You do know you’re like the luckiest geek around, right?”

Phil smirked and chucked Clint under the chin. “I do know, honey.”

“And now you’re patronizing me.”

“Only when you act like the world’s most put upon significant other.”

“I just feel weird. Isn’t this kind of weird?”

“It could be weirder.”

“Let’s avoid that.”

“We’re going to so cheer up.” Phil folded his arms, considering Clint from all angles before smiling. “You look good. Now you just need the boots.”

“I can’t even bend over in this thing.”

“I’ll help you.”

The suit was really cumbersome and trying to sit down in it wasn’t exactly a picnic. So Clint eventually ended up on the mattress of their hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling as Phil worked on lacing up some red leather boots. “You were right. This is weirder.”

Phil joined him on the bed a few minutes later. “I’m beginning to think I just have a thing for the uniform,” Phil mused, running a hand over buckles and Clint’s padded chest. “You look really hot.”

“There’s a lot of layers, and you’re enjoying this way too much already.”

“I always I enjoy you.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Good news. You can enjoy me anyway you want me. I’m pretty much stuck here until you help me up.”

Phil smiled back. “I know it’s bit heavy, but I had to go with the same chain-mail/Kevlar blend Howard Stark used.”

“Why?” Clint couldn’t keep himself from asking. 

“To stop bayonets from piercing it.”

“No. Why did you go with a chain-mail/Kevlar blend?”

Phil kissed him. “It adds a certain air of authenticity.”

“If I end up in a box marked near-mint condition, I’m going to be very upset.”

“As tempting as that is… No. And as much as I’d like to just keep you here all day, there’s actually some panels I want to go to.”

Phil helped Clint up before going to their temporary closet. “I’ll change quickly and then we can go.”

“What’s your costume? Namor? Or Bucky?” 

“I figured I’d be a little less likely to result in us never doing anything all weekend,” Phil said, selecting a suit that looked basically like any other suit Phil wore on any other given day. I’m going as a Man in Black.”

“I utterly loathe you,” Clint muttered. He folded his arms as best he could and waited for Phil to come back out. “If I find a good-looking Namor, I’m leaving you.”

“I’ll win you back somehow,” Phil said from behind the closed door, sounding very unconcerned. He came out wearing sunglasses and smirking as he looked Clint over. “Because you love me.”

“I must, all things considered.”

-

He spent most of the con losing Phil and getting checked out by some weirdo before finding Phil again.

“Still here?” Phil asked every time. “I figured you’d have found a Namor by now.” But at least he was nice enough not to say much about the grip Clint had on his arm. There wasn’t much that fazed Clint but there’d been a lot of touching by random people and it seemed like he was just expected to grin and bear it.

Or at least he did until Phil noticed and people began to give them a wider berth.

“Put this on your back,” Phil said, taking the shield and adjusting it for him. “Better?”

“Better.”

“I’d say something about you being my brave little soldier, but I know where that would get me.”

“On a couch for the rest of your life? Yeah. It would. Can we get some coffee?”

“For about eight dollars a cup, but of course we can.” Phil checked his watch. “Then we’ll go to my panel.”

They were in the coffee line for about an hour. Clint allowed for a few photos, smiling pleasantly before yawning and snatching up Phil’s hand.

Phil looked smug. “For someone anxious to rule over the fish of the sea, you’re very clingy.”

“I’m okay with my lot in life,” Clint decided. “I like you most of the time.”

Phil just smiled and paid for Clint’s coffee.

The panel wasn’t too bad until one of the guys up there started talking about the new line of Avengers action figures that would be coming out in the next month or so. Then Clint slumped in his chair and did his best to tune the speaker out.

“Even Loki gets one,” he lamented after the panel. “But not Natasha. Or me.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Phil agreed, looking like he actually meant it too. He squeezed Clint’s hand and worked on haggling over the price of some Captain America something or another.

“And of course Steve gets what? Eight?” Clint asked as they walked past some more booths.

“Five. But that does seem excessive. And one of them looks like the Rocketeer with a paint job.”

“Do you want them for Christmas?”

Phil’s expression shifted rapidly from uncertain to indifferent. “You know… I thought I did, but after seeing them I’m not very impressed. The faces are smushed and they’re not going to be worth much of anything. You can buy me some Captain America cufflinks instead.”

“You’re a good boyfriend.”

“Well, you do a lot for me.”

Phil bought a few posters and some trading cards to replace the ones he’d lost. Clint looked at lunchboxes but couldn’t see the point in spending sixty dollars on something made of tin.

“I think we should get Bruce the ones that look like him though," Clint said, trading Phil the shield for the packages. “I don’t like supporting lame companies, but I think it would do Bruce a world of good.”

“The Hulk one wouldn’t piss him off?”

Clint shook his head. “They’d make him happy.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to.”

“But we won’t get any for Tony.”

“No. We’re not going to tell him those exist. In fact, we're doing to do our best to destroy any contradictory evidence.” 

“That's what I like about us," Clint said. "And you. You're a damn good boyfriend.”

Phil chuckled. Then he looked at his watch and a few pages in the conference guide he’d been carrying around. “Three more panels and then I’ll treat you to room service.”

“Deal.”

-

They ended up getting grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato bisque soup. Clint ate his pretty quickly then curled back up on the bed still in the uniform. He pulled off the holster and the belt though. Then did his best to work off the boots. 

Phil watched this was some amusement before going over.

“We good?” Clint asked as Phil unlaced one of the boots.

“Very,” Phil agreed, slipping the boot off and tugging Clint further down the mattress. 

Clint leaned up and kissed him. “Even if you didn’t live out any weird Steve fantasies?”

“I have no Steve-related fantasies.”

“You must.”

“I have basically every Captain America collectible known to man--”

“Believe me, I know,” Clint wryly replied. “I’ve seen all of them, and I’m still with you.”

“And I own them,” Phil continued, swatting Clint’s knee, “because of what he meant to me growing up. As a kid, there was nothing I wanted more than to be a hero like him.”

“You were a creepy stalker when they found him.”

“I was,” Phil admitted. “And now I have signed trading cards that are worth a small fortune.”

Clint snorted. “Are you going somewhere with this or…?”

“I respect and admire the hell out of Captain America, but I never saw the need to collect the actual guy. I still don’t.”

“So I’m… more collectible?”

“Desirable is the word that comes to mind.”

“You like me better,” Clint said, feeling smug.

“I do.” Phil took Clint’s other foot in his lap and worked on unlacing the remaining boot.

“Even if I don’t have an action figure?”

Phil tossed the boot behind him. He pushed Clint back on the bed and straddled his legs. “Especially because you don’t have an action figure. Even when you get one, who cares? Some weirdo somewhere will collect it and brood over it while I get the real thing.”

That was more than just a little hypocritical, but Clint didn’t think it was worth interrupting a kiss to say so. Or the next few that followed since Phil seemed pretty eager to keep Clint’s lips sealed.

“Even if I wanted to, it would be kind of hard to return you,” Phil teased before kissing his way down Clint’s neck. He got a decent portion of the Captain America costume out of the way as he did so. “Or pawn you for that matter. You’re worth more to me than you would be to most people.”

“You’re hilarious, Coulson.”

Phil flicked a finger at the dog tags around Clint’s neck. “And you’re mine, Barton.”

“Pretty much,” Clint said. “Now kiss me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help sneaking in mentions of [Namor](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Namor) (aka Marvel King of Atlantis) into a lot of what I write, but I really like the character and even if he never shows up in the movies, I remain convinced that he is friends with movie!Steve. And someday I will be a fic about it.


	6. State of the Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint ruins Phil's present from Pepper.

Clint had given up trying to understand Phil’s tastes, and he wasn’t even going to begin to try to come up with a theory for Pepper’s. He just watched them talk about some hideous painting that looked like someone had painted a portrait of a beach ball. Then thought better of it and tried to blot the thing out by applying paint to the bristle end of a toothbrush and shaking it at a canvas.

“Virginia… I really don’t see how I can take this from you,” Phil was saying.

Clint didn't either, but he forced himself not to say anything.

Pepper just shook her head. “You can't give back a gift. Besides, I'd rather give it to you than let Tony decide what to do with it.”

“All the same…”

She crossed her arms. “One word. Cellist. You can make it up to me by taking this lovely painting and hanging it somewhere nice.”

 _Not the bedroom_ , Clint thought to himself. _Please not the bedroom._

Phil considered the painting then looked at Clint. “It would look good in our room. Don’t you think?”

“It’ll definitely fit on one of the walls,” Clint said with a forced smile. He was more than a little disappointed by Phil's inability to have read his mind properly. “Does anyone want some coffee? I want coffee.”

They both said no and Clint all but ran downstairs. There wasn’t any coffee because no one could ever be bothered to set another pot to brew. So Clint got everything ready and hovered over it protectively.

“It’s awkward when those two hang out,” Tony said, joining him. “Can I have some?”

“I guess. Thanks for the fugly painting, by the way.”

“You’re very welcome because I hated that thing. Looks like a clown ate some gremlins and birthday cake and then threw up all over the place.”

“If anything happened to it, would you be sad?”

“No, but Pepper loves it.”

“So does Phil. I think.”

Tony patted Clint’s shoulder before he got down two coffee mugs. “I hope you’ll give it a good home. Might look good in the stairwell.”

“It's going above our bed.”

“Gross,” Tony said. He sipped his coffee and shrugged. “I’ll make sure to say a little prayer for your sex life.” Then he left.

Clint was just going upstairs as Pepper and Phil were heading back down. They all paused on a landing so Pepper could bid Clint a proper farewell. Then he continued up, while the other two went back to chatting and seeking out the Avengers’ parking garage.

Wandering into the bedroom, Clint drank more of his coffee. He admired the plain white walls and then glanced down. The painting was lying on the end of the bed looking ridiculously out of place. And pretty much exactly as Tony has described.

“I’m not sure both of us are going to get to live in here,” Clint muttered. “Maybe you can live in the bathroom.”

He eyed the door to make sure Phil hadn’t come back. Then he leaned forward, trying to figure out who the hell the artist was. 

And that was when he spilled the rest of his coffee all over the canvas.

“Fuck,” he yelled before clamping a hand over his mouth. He set the mug down on the dresser and picked the painting up, taking it swiftly to the bathroom and watching coffee pour down the drain. Along with some gobs of green and yellow paint. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

Clint wadded up some toilet paper and gently tried taking some of the coffee off. But ended up removing the most of the pink dots from the right-hand corner instead. He had no idea what to do to save or fix it. Clint just knew he couldn't let Phil see the painting. So he wrapped a towel around the painting and took the elevator down to Bruce’s lab.

“You have to help me. It’s an emergency.”

Bruce glanced up from his computer then surged forward. “What happened?”

Clint thrust the towel-wrapped painting at him. “You have to fix this with science.” 

Bruce made a face that seemed to suggest that he did not think there was an emergency at all, but that he was more than willing to placate Clint if need be.

"I can try. Take a deep breath first."

Clint managed one deep breath and even counted to five when prompted to do so. “Okay now please fix this?”

“All right. Why don’t you sit down?” Bruce snagged his elbow and found them both a chair. Then he set the towel down on an operating table, unwrapping it slowly with a pair of tweezers.

“This is…” Bruce laughed. “Clint, this is just a painting.”

“It isn’t just a painting. It is a famous, hideous painting.”

“I doubt it’s famous,” Bruce assured him, prodding a corner with a scalpel. “Or that this can be improved by anything let alone science.”

“No, you don’t understand. I got coffee on this painting and it’s falling apart and I have no idea what to do and Phil is going to kill me.”

Bruce shook his head. “Coffee or no coffee... Something’s wrong with it.”

“Phil doesn’t think so. He wants this to go in our room.”

“Then in my expert opinion,” Bruce began, “you did him a really big favor because this has got to be the worst painting I’ve ever seen.”

Clint sighed. “Thanks anyway, Bruce.” He wrapped the painting up and ran back out again.

He couldn’t think of anywhere else to go so he tracked down Tasha. She was in the gym playing basketball with Thor who seemed to be convinced he was playing dodgeball instead. 

“Halt,” he told them before moving out onto the court. “I have a problem.” 

Natasha unwrapped the canvas and then promptly dropped it on the floor. “What the hell is this?”

Thor poked the painting thoughtfully. Then he picked it up, smearing the purple and red globs together. “Something quite wicked.” He dabbed his thumb in the paint and drew a symbol in one of the corners.

“No, Thor,” Clint insisted, batting the Asgardian’s hand away. “Oh no. Dammit. Look what you did!”

Thor tilted his head looking puzzled.

“You’ve made it look even worse.”

“Nay, dear friend.”

“Nay?”

Thor nodded, resting a hand on Clint's shoulder.

“Explain,” Natasha suggested.

"This rune shall protect us,” Thor declared as he watched Clint wrap the painting up again. “For I do not believe this to be a painting but an infernal abomination sent to this plane in order to rob mortals of their sanity. You were right to try and destroy it.”

Natasha nodded. She looked like she was resisting the urge to smirk. “Can't argue with that, Thor. What it is supposed to be anyway?”

“It’s a painting,” Clint insisted. “I have to save it. It’s Phil’s. Was.”

Both of his friends looked concerned.

“He wanted it to go up in our room.”

“That’s just unacceptable,” Natasha growled out. 

“An unwise and unjust decision,” Thor agreed. “Monstrous and cruel. Your beloved warrior has been much deceived. Verily, he has been ensnared by yon painting's sinister wiles, but know this. He shall be protected against its dark power from this day forward.”

“That's great," Clint said. He was hoping that Thor would give it a rest if Clint seemed at least somewhat grateful. "But right now I just need a replacement or a duplicate. Tasha, do you know someone I can talk to?”

“Do you know what the original painting looked like?”

Clint sighed. “Um. For the most part? It looked like crap.”

Natasha shook her head. “That’s not enough to go on.”

“It must not be replicated,” Thor insisted. “We must contain it, and keep its web of madness from spreading.”

Clint scowled at both of them. “You know what? Forget it. Never mind.” He shoved the painting under one arm, and went back up the stairs.

Phil was in their room holding a tack hammer and frowning at their empty bed. 

“Hi,” Clint said meekly.

“Hey,” Phil greeted him without turning around. “I left the painting right here, and now it's gone. You don’t think Stark took it back, do you?”

“Before I answer that question… You love me, right? With a deep, abiding love that can endure like any kind of hardship?”

Phil turned around, taking in the frantic, hunted expression that must have been on Clint’s face. He looked at the towel and frowned a bit, but he set the hammer down. “Well, of course. What happened to the painting?”

Clint clutched at the towel and looked down at the floor. “I ruined it.”

“Ruined it? How?”

“Coffee.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I got coffee on it.”

“You poured coffee on our painting?”

“It was an accident, I swear. But I hated that painting and I’m worried I did it on purpose but I don’t think I did because you liked it and you have to forgive me.”

Phil wandered over, touching Clint’s hair gently. “For someone who hated the thing, you’re taking this very hard.”

“You liked it.”

“I was the proud owner of it for about half an hour tops. I’m wasn’t that attached yet.” Phil took a look under the towel and shuddered. “What the hell happened? It looks like the stuff of nightmares.”

Clint sighed. “I know.”

“Coffee did this?”

“Don’t ask me how, but yes.” 

Phil studied the painting. “That's weird.”

“What?”

“I could swear that someone’s painted a little Algiz in the upper left.”

“Algiz? 

“The rune for protection and opportunity… Is that Thor’s thumbprint?”

Clint decided if he was going to own to one thing, he might as well own up to everything. “After it got ruined, I ran off. I tried to get help.”

Phil pinched his nose and seemed to be struggling to keep a straight face. “Help?”

“Yeah.”

“You asked Thor for help with a painting?”

“And Bruce. And Natasha.” 

“And?”

“And Thor thinks it’s a Lovecraft monster. And Natasha's lacking in contacts. And Bruce flat-out refused to fix it with science.”

Phil started laughing. “Clint,” he managed. “I’m sorry. I know you’re upset but…”

The archer crossed his arms and sighed. “In your own time, Coulson.”

It took awhile because whenever Phil so much as glanced down at the toweled-up disaster, he started laughing again.

“Come on. Enough.”

Phil shook his head as if to clear it. He set the painting down and kissed Clint's cheek. “All right, I’m good. Now. What do you want me to do?”

“Forgive me. I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

“Even if it did, I don’t think it would matter. There’s not much paint left for you to remove,” Phil said with a smirk. 

Clint glared at him. “This is serious. I ruined something precious and priceless. Your BFF is going to hate me forever.”

“Not really,” Phil assured him. “I liked the thing before, but now that it’s turned into a very abstract portrait of Dorian Grey... I think we should just get rid of it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. There’s no way I’m putting something like this above our bed." 

“So?”

Phil kissed Clint on the lips. “So? I love you very much.”

“In spite of this?”

“In spite of everything,” Phil said with a teasing smirk. “Now give me a minute to call Virginia, and then we can use this thing for target practice.”

Clint wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse when Pepper just thought it was pretty funny. And that Clint was one of cutest, stupidest, most preciously foolish people she’d ever met.

He definitely wasn’t a fan of the way both his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s best friend dissolved into giggles whenever Clint entered a room carrying a cup of coffee. Or the jackass way in which Phil occasionally shielded paintings from harm whenever they both happened to walk by one for the first month or two after the accident.

But he did feel better about the whole mess after he commissioned Steve to make a nice, soothing landscape to go over the bed.

As for the painting, Thor came to collect the ugly thing when the rest of the team was done firing live rounds at it. He picked it up gingerly, saying he thought it would make a nice addition to his father’s collection. And no one felt inclined to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about taking a more serious route with this last one, but honestly I tend to prefer amusing misfortunes as opposed to angst. 
> 
> The next fic up is more than likely going to be about Clint and Thor's bromance, but I will be writing about the 5 Times Phil Wasn't An Awesome Boyfriend and the 1 Time He Totally Was at some point soon. And it won't be very serious either.


End file.
